The Black Organ
by TheMonarchyOfRoses
Summary: <html><head></head>Law's past continuously haunts him, to the point that he is certain that death would be the best option. He would no longer suffer, and nobody would even care if he lived or died... or so he believes. His daughter believes the contrary. (Based off of the lyrics to "Black Orchid" by Blue October)</html>
1. Chapter 1

Scarlet twirled the knob of her beloved snow globe for the umpteenth time that day, enjoying the sweet tune the gift emitted. She twirled with the figure within the glass, becoming identical, from the onyx hair and eyes, alabaster complexion, to the red leotards. Adding in flips and splits, she found her happy melody, as she did every day. However, she felt a little placement of guilt; while she gazed upon the beautiful gift, she realized that in her entire existence, she had never given her father his own birthday gift, or that she never even knew when his birthday was. They were a good week from docking on land, so her gift had to be crafty. Looking around her room, she found a long piece of ribbon her father had acquired for her for reasons undefined.

Law had spent his third day in self imposed solitary confinement, or so he guessed it to be; with no natural light pouring inside the dark room, it was difficult to tell what day it was. Slowly, his shaking hands reached out into the crepuscular light that faded indefinitely, reflecting the bitter loneliness he felt, despite being surrounded by the bodies he used to love in his mortuary. He pulled his arms back and burrowed them into his hollowing chest. Though he was very weak, he rose to his feet and sauntered out of the morgue, finding his way to his room. En route, he found his crew playing canasta on the table; nobody turned to look at the previously missing figure who has been out of commission for the past three days. He stood there, perplexed. Pulling out his scalpel, he raised it to his throat, and although he could have sworn that they all looked at, or through, him at one point. He walked over to his crew, holding each of their hands at one point only to find indifference. He looked down at his bare chest once more before leaving the blissfully ignorant crew to their vices.

His knees gave out from under him, sending him to the floor, his hands catching his upper body. He sat against the wall, still in a dim twilight. Raising his hand to his chest, he pulled his heart halfway, revealing a black organ. He had been ill for some time, now. He could not determine whether or not it was congenital, and he could not find any medical records of such an affliction. It had only really manifested the last few days, correlating to the morose sense of life he picked up on once more. In his front pocket, he heard the crinkling of a certain picture he held dear; pulling it out, he saw the only surviving picture of his late family, before Lami had fallen ill. He knew he was the carbon copy of his father, as it pained him to see his own reflection.

For the many minutes, perhaps even hours, he listened to the water leak from the faucet, only to find that it had fallen sweetly in tune. He reached the arch to his room, then closed the door before falling to and crawling on his floor. It took all of his remaining strength, but he managed to find his way to the locked drawer in his nightstand, pulling out the .357 he kept should there be the need of its use. It was always loaded, but he checked, just to be sure. For the first time in a long time, he felt warm and comfortable; still miserable, but in an embrace he had unknowingly longed for nearly his entire life. He perched the barrel contentedly under his chin.

He cried like he had never before. It was not a loud wail, or a pained scream; it was a hollow whimper. It was too dark for him to see his own hands or the gun. He always pictured his death bloody and gory, but always pictured it in daylight, or around a multitude of people as he would smile and flare at the world as he fell in victory. He was not sure if he was ready for such a self righteous suicide.

A millisecond after clicking off the safety, he heard a knock at the door, the first outside force of sound in ages. He was frozen where he sat until he heard the repeated slam. The knob was starting to turn, but he summoned the wary strength to utter: "Do not come in."

Ignoring Law, the door was opened anyways, blinding him with great sunlight he hadn't seen every time he tried to, whether outside or inside. He lowered the gun just so it was out of sight from the apparition. Following the life force into the room, he saw that it was no other than his precious Scarlet, walking in his favorite black dress he had gotten her a while back, with a bright crimson bow tied to her head.

"Happy birthday daddy!" She cheered.

He was confused before the epiphany hit him: it _was _his birthday, the sixth day of October. He was very curious as to how she knew, for he made sure to never tell anybody his birthday. Before he could become more consumed in that train of though, his daughter raced to him, wrapping her miniscule arms around his neck and plopping a big kiss on his cheek, proclaiming that she did not know what to get him, so she gave him her, in a sense.

When Law fully realized the sentiment of her actions, the silence was elaborately simplified, save for the sound of a dropping gun. Using his free hands to hold his child, he felt an odd, but not painful, sensation in his chest, like a mass was pressing from inward. His eyes were closed as he held her. When he opened them, his whole room was illuminated in sunlight. He also noticed that the sheets fell from his mattress to around them, and that she was fast asleep. He carried her to his bed, laying her gently down, then lifting the sheets over her. He walked to the outside of the submarine onto the main deck with surprisingly little effort, as if a new found energy had been restored. His heart was going through another tangent; as he held his hands to his chest once more, his heart poured out again, a brilliant crimson. His years in the medical field proved useless in explaining to him what he was seeing or feeling.

He was soon back in his bedroom, fatigue catching up with him. He laid down next to her on his back, kissing her head sweetly before laying down completely. She turned on her side and wrapped her arm and leg around his torso, being small enough to barley reach his hip bones. Living was not his thing.

Until now.


	2. Chapter 2

_Maybe living isn't for everyone. _

Law used to think.


End file.
